Your “Simple” Suggestions

Your “simple” suggestions, as you like to call them, fall around me,
They drift softly to the ground and melt before my feet,
My aura illuminates the hostile home in which you hoped I’d freeze.
To death.

All was supposed:
That which cared for,
That which loved,
That which only was doing the best for.

Now I feel the ice crackling under my weight as I march into the night,
Staring at the wild wind whipping rouge,
The bright-eyed glimmer stealing full moon powers,
Gripping mittens release their hold,
Venturing further into the mystic,
Encountering an awe of both delight & peace.

The sticking snow reveals paths taken,
Of light & dark,
Love & pain,
Young & old.

But “simply” suggesting I know nothing shows the nothing you so simply desire,
For never have you sought to understand anything but what you hoped to find.


The Ease

I have nothing left but you still want more,

Those threats are as void as a black hole,

Rolling around, destroying with ease,

The place you find yourself in is one of misdeed,

You won’t find me there or anything of light,

The greed seeping with ease,

How easily you part waters, while others bleed,

No need to apologize your apology is coated in hate,

Growing up in a house built of fear & jealousy,

A tendency to bar out love,emotional-abuse.jpg

A cage, a cave, a windowless room,

It was so easy to raise us this way,

Don’t you see? I’m not a little girl anymore, I understand my pain,

Instead of blocking it out in the pouring rain,

I say let the rain pour, let the pouring rain in,

Please, little girl, I want to feel the world.


Soaking in the warm tub of memories,

Bubbles, and
the movie clips.

The ones that impress true emotion:

Valleys of lush wisdom,

Mountains of hazed cartoons,

Not the TV, there was no TV.

Us, me, we were exploring the tall grass,

Meandering, inspecting bright stones and lingering bugs.

Air warmed by the sun filling lungs bringing fresh outlooks,

Hooked on outbursts of surrounding beings,

Freeing, inwardly receiving my life unit.

Output depending on my clockwork,

Do I know what time it is?

I think I do, but I don’t want to worry about that anymore.

The Panic Attack of A Poet: What It’s Like & How I Get To The Other Side

It rises up through vulnerable temples,

Fizzing like a poured soda,

Taking a tour of an endless drop,

An ever darkening ride to a past time.

Shit, I think,

My fingers seething with adrenaline,

A never-ending heart race,

Palpable like heartache.

I know what is to come,

And I am certain this is the uninvited guest.

Nevertheless, a trying defense, my mind mending fences:

If an open sea can carry its waves,

So can I and sleep soundly in graves.

I turn around to meet the fear,

One so dark depth disappears.

I am hurled through this vacuum,

Will it ever end? Desperation then thickly spreads,

Trapped in the pores of uneasing breads.

Just when my thoughts try to transcend,

A river of pain seeps out of my lens.


Don’t worry, it will be over soon, a faraway thought suddenly reminds.


The words mix like water and oil,

Hopelessly stirring forever and ever.


The words mix like water and sugar,

Hopefully stirring for better and better.


The words mix like water and syrup,

A seamless stirring of thought and spirit.


This is a homecoming. You are here, and you are home.

There isn’t anywhere you need to be, and there isn’t anyone you need to see.

Your source of comfort is simply there, in you, for you, all the time.

It is unlimited, and it is specifically yours.

In no way does it impose on or interfere with your free will.

It is unconditional. It is you. It is love.


The Embrace

I keep trying to resist,

I keep trying to hold the pieces together.

Each one carelessly glued on,

How am I supposed to attend to them all?

I’ve been riding the train of optimism for far too long,

And my body can feel it.

It needs a break from feeling whole,

It needs a rest from being strong,

But I’m holding on for dear life.

A fear so familiar it tastes like me,

A fear so insidious it’s been there all along,

Underlining my movements,

Magnifying my judgments.

It is not until I tune into the waves and nuances that I finally find compassion,

A meeting of love and pain,

A uniting of loss and empathy.

This is my home, this is my temple,

And I am here to listen to you, my dear.


When you are in the tidal wave,

You can’t see it for what it is.

Instead, it is a rush of curling motion,

Sweeping your head sideways,

Scooping your body.

You feel it, you don’t see it,

A cartwheeling blur,

Some heavy weight launching you endlessly.

There is a sense of being lost,


A dizziness from the flurry of bubbles perhaps,

Look how present you are being under such a circumstance!

Smiling inward, you sting of motivation and feeling,

A surge of reorientation takes lead.

Hands whip out at either side,

And legs follow lead to find sand solid soles.

Once you were lost, but now you are found,

And lost you will probably find again.

Underneath the sand you see the glimmer,

A bottle containing a script of paper:

“A happy home awaits your return,

You created it when you chose self over harm,

A key to unlocking your limitless world,

You are free to explore the expanse of your soul.”